I always figured harsh words to be the culprit of a nasty sting --
but this, all of this silence, is far worse than any sting.
Silence is a chill straight to the bone -- waking one up at night to the realization
that yet one more night has passed and the silence has deepened.
I find myself caught between a fierce longing to love myself in spite of the beckoning insecurities that hiss around my ears when I feel like I've finally been free of these feelings.
I find myself saying,
Don't be that girl, Madison. Don't be her.
Yet I am, because I've waited. And I've extended branches. I've been open and honest to vulnerability and with my time.
In the grand scheme of his hectic life, I'm just a blip, and I can live with that.
He owes me nothing.
He gave me his word, sure, but promises mean nothing in this city, as I've learned in a variety of regards.
He isn't worth it.
Just walk away.
Who really cares -- you can do better.
-- All all songs with truth, but feelings have a nasty argument to counter logic and truth.
Perhaps it isn't even him that I got so caught up in.
It wasn't that he pursued me,
or that he convinced me to stay when I knew otherwise.
It's that he used the fucking word that gets me every time --
Or (and such a lethal combination): You're different.
And it isn't that I believe he said it with malicious intent, or insincerity.
It's just that he said it, and yet he did not treat me accordingly.
Not fully his fault, and mostly mine, for staying when I shouldn't have.
Making a home in a heart that wasn't mine, and isn't mine, and sticking around because
leaving with so much unsaid is that bone-cold reality I can't face --
though the sooner I do, the sooner I'll feel myself coming back to the warmth of who I am, and who I'm still becoming.
I find it both ironic and cruel that this weekend is Halloween.
For one, Halloween is just another added layer to the personas (most, not all) folks put on every other day of the year. Perhaps that's why everyone loves it so much -- they get to celebrate what they do best: playing pretend and wearing a mask.
On the other hand, this city always feels like an unattainable party, and although I have plans, there's a huge piece of me asking to stay in.
Because at this point in my life, the scariest thing of all is facing the silence in my life -- the part of me without the mask, without the plans, without the boy.
I'm told that this is only one portion of one side of my life, and that the climb is steeper still from here, but worth the potential fall, and certainly worth the views on my way up.